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Visting a Mourner? What Not to Say

My mother died just a few weeks ago. If you've lost a parent, too, you know how hard this is to go through.

She had many friends and they call or visit me, to comfort me. It's wonderful to see these people; they are very kind. But I find that some condolence words are more helpful, for me, than others.

Some condolence sayings that I found to be grating may be beneficial to other mourners. But as I talk to others who have grieved and been consoled, there are some phrases that stood out as "not helpful." Only some of these were said to me.

I make an assumption that the person who takes the time to visit or say something really wants to be helpful. For that reason, I wrote this post: maybe it can benefit the loving visitor and the mourner.

Examples of what not to say:

• "How are you?"

They're not doing well, so what can they say to this?

• "Are you feeling better?"

Probably not. But they may feel a need to say they are, to make you feel better.

• "At least you have closure now."

There is no closure, ever. The mourner may feel as if you are saying that they are grieving too long. Each person goes through recovery at his or her own pace, but a death in the family will be felt as a deep loss forever.

• "At least she's not suffering anymore."

Don't assume someone suffered and was "ready to go," even if the person was ill on and off. My mom wasn't suffering. She loved life to the end.

• "She/He is in a better place."

Not everyone believes in an afterlife. Know the beliefs of the mourner before you try this as a comforting statement. And even for those who do believe in an afterlife, it may not help to think the loved one is in a better place. They grieve because they lost a parent and will never see him or her again. That's sad!

• "What will you do now?"

Mourners have no idea. They are just trying to cope with their sorrow and everything they may have to do to settle the business of the loved one (like emptying a home).

• "How old was he/she?"

This seems to imply that it's okay that the loved one died, because they were of a certain age; it can sound insensitive. Certainly when an old person dies, it is not tragic (as it would be if a child died). But for the son or daughter who loved the parent, there could never be enough time.

• "At least she/he lived a long life."

As above, this is beside the point. It does not console the void that the person is mourning.

• "I know how you feel."

You really don't. Each person feels a unique loss.But, if you lost a parent, too, then talk about how you felt then and how you coped, or didn't. That's helpful.

Lightly touching the mourner's arm or shoulder is comforting; but ask before hugging.

• "Let's talk about happier things."

No, let's not. This is not a time for a chat to "catch up," or to distract the mourner. In fact, your visit can be completely silent. If the mourner does not feel like talking, that's okay. You are there to comfort them, not to engage them in a conversation.

Please don't avoid speaking about the person who passed. Talking about your good memories of that person and how nice they were is a comfort to the mourner. And it's okay if the mourner cries; they are in mourning.

• "Can I do anything for you?"

Most people will just say no. They don't want to bother you, and they may not know what they need anyway.

• "Call me if you need something."

As above, most people will not want to bother you. If you sincerely want to help, look around and see if you see anything you can do right now, and ask if you can do that. Dishes in the sink you can wash? Take out the garbage? Make coffee or tea for the mourner (the mourner should not be catering to you)?

Or, ask if you can help by walking dog; feeding the cat; taking children to appointments watering plants and lawn; going to the store or post office. If they have their parent's apartment to empty, maybe you could offer to go with them; just being with them when they have to go into their parent's home is comforting.

Also helpful: bring real food, not cookies. The mourner may not be eating well because they are too emotionally drained to cook.

But cut flowers... not so good; they die fast and that's depressing to someone who is grieving.

You won't want to stay too long. Grieving is tiring, and the person needs some time to be alone.

To those of you who are mourners like me, I am sorry for your loss and offer my condolences.

When my mother's mother died, her mother-in-law, (my grandmother on my father's side) told her that crying at the loss of a parent was selfish because really one is crying for oneself.

There is a lot of truth in that but I doubt that my grandmother's words were of any comfort to my mother. My mother was going through a difficult period as it was, her own father had died shortly before she married by father and getting used to that experience, and my mother was pregnant with me when her mother died, suddenly.

I was a child when my mother told me what the grandmother had said to her and I got older I concluded that, in that context crying was about not having had the opportunity to talk to the parent about one's own feelings towards the parent and to clear up any misunderstandings while the parent was alive.

My mother had cancer when she died at the age of 60 and in the final days in hospital on painkillers and drifting in and out of sleep so I didn't think she was in a fit state to listen. Instead, I wrote her a letter expressing my feelings and placed the letter in an envelope under the pillow on her bed in the hope that she would read it when she could. She never did and after she'd died the hospital returned the envelope to me unopened. That was more than 30 years ago.

I was slightly disappointed but I'd got on well with my mother so apart from a few niggles I wasn't too concerned. My relationship with my father was for me more challenging. While he was still active, I went to visit him and suggested we go for a walk in Kew Gardens, London. Waking around Kew Gardens was one of his favourite pursuits which had become less frequent as he had become less able. As we strolled, I took the opportunity to tell him that I wanted to clear up misunderstandings between us. I'm not aware of any misunderstandings, he said. You may not be, I said, but I am.

As children we never know our parents before we were born or what they were like before our parents met each others. As we walked and talked and I asked questions about his life and which he answered freely and truthfully, a wave of sadness overcame us both. By the time we'd finished, I felt the bond of love and friendship between us had strengthened.

My father was 92 when he died peacefully. For his funeral, to which 250 people attended, I wrote and read out a 15 page tribute to him. Starting from his childhood to his old age. Writing the tribute was catalyst for my own sadness and by the time I read it to the gathering of family and friends I was strong enough to do so without feeling tearful. The listeners were not as spared, many were weeping which I put down to a combination of my choice of words and their own feelings about him. I told the assembled throng that I felt privileged to have been his son but more importantly to have had the opportunity to complete my relationship with him before he died.

My father died more than 20 years ago. Did I succeed in my completion? No. During the aftermath, months later, I had immense difficulty coming to terms with how to synchronise what I dream of doing and where I fit in with what is wanted of me. Perhaps in the hope of finding myself and whether i am really suited, I put into practice a long-held original idea that my father had never been supportive of and that resulted in a substantial financial loss, even though objectively the idea is now a mainstream success for others. He had assessed my chance of succeeding correctly and was right all along, i just wish he's explained why in words that had made sense to me, instead of simply dismissing the idea. And last weekend, while I was delving into some deep feelings, I uncovered a residue of annoyance and irritation that I should loved to have discussed with him. Instead I took it out on myself and ended up feeling disconnected and ungrounded. I'm okay now, I have a way of transforming feelings into opportunities for personal development, and the method doesn't take very long before emotional upsets fade and I feel myself again.

Thank you for allowing this opportunity to share what I've been through. And to pass on a word of advice that genealogist friends would surely agree with - if there's something you need to know, then talk to them when they're alive, it's much harder after they've gone.

Interesting. Have you ever considered that these people are merely trying to comfort you? And while their attempts may seem gauche, we are all just human and do the best we can. If this is not good enough for you, perhaps you should send them your list of dos and don'ts before they visit, so they don't offend you. When my mother died, friends and relatives who visited were an incredible comfort. Just knowing they cared, was enough. What they said was totally irrelevant.

I agree. When my parents died, I found that what other people said to me rarely helpful for how I was feeling at the time - because like most people generally help offered is a reflection of what they'd want if they were in the same situation - but that didn't mean I had to reject their ways of wanting to be comforting.

Re-reading the list of rules, I sense that the author of this article is projecting her own feelings onto the wider world and which might be thought a form of lashing out?

It's not a list of rules. It's a discussion of what words might be more comforting than others.

If you reread my post you will see I value the people and appreciate and love them. It's words I am talking about, just words. I have been a university professor, a teacher and a psychologist for my entire adult life - with a graduate school specialty in psycholinguistics, how people process language and communicate.

I look at the world through the lens of what I experience and learn, and what I can offer others. I wrote the post in that spirit. I am not offended, irritated, or angry at anyone. Just examining my grieving experiences and my feelings about words of comfort.

It's not easy to put forth a personal post, at a time when I am most vulnerable, to people who don't know me. I tried it, a departure from my usual research posts. I'm sad and my research doesn't interest me right now; I haven't been posting and had to write something for psychology today. This is what I wrote.

I think you are being overly critical. Why would you NOT welcome this kind of insight so you can grow and be a better friend to someone greiving? I think the whole point here is that the generic, often self-centered or shallow things people say to mourners can be very easily replaced with genuine attention to the individual mourner. There is NOTHING wrong with saying "I know how much you loved (the deceased) and I know it is going to be difficult to go on without him/her". Or "I really admired your relationship with him/her". Or "he/she was an awesome (fill in the blank) and will be missed by many people". There are LOTS of things you can say that acknowlege the soul inside of the mourner; suck it up and think of them and not yourself.

One of the most appalling, horrifying things I have ever witnessed was at the wake of a friend's very young son. The line was really long, and I watched in utter shock how the mourners assumed the role of the comforters. I will never forget that experience and swore to never, ever put a mourner in that position.

I have read lists similar to this elsewhere, and also heard them from a widower (my husband, whose first wife died before we met). A list that focuses on the RIGHT things to say would be a lot more helpful to someone trying to console a mourner. This piece offered a little of that but I would have liked to see more.

In my experience, no matter what you say or do, it will be the wrong thing if the mourner decides it is wrong. One person may want you to offer to wash the dishes, another person may want you to just step up and wash the dishes without being asked or told, yet another person may feel offended by your offer to clean. People are unique.

Words cannot heal grief, so please don't get angry at people who try to console a mourner when their words and actions fail to heal grief. That is not their fault, it is the nature of grief.

There is no anger. There is no expectation that someone can fix a person who is grieving.

It's primarily a discussion of the language people use to help others. What may be more helpful to say than something else? I was hoping to generate a conversation about that.

As I mentioned, most of these words were not said to me, but are a collection of thoughts that come from people like me who have lost parents as we are reflecting on the language of comfort. It's not anything to do with my judgements or feelings about my visitors!

Again, I would've liked more advice on what to say, instead of what NOT to say. So if "I know how you feel" isn't good, what about "I DON'T know how you feel, but you have my sympathy"? Is "I'm so sorry" okay? I understand silence and space are welcomed, but what can we, as visitors, say in place of the annoying platitudes that have been listed? This is me, trying to discuss.

Unfortunately, I had occasion to say these words to a mourner tonight, to a young woman who just had her first baby 5 weeks ago and also lost her mother a few days ago. I told her I just lost my mom, too; we sat together, and she sighed, "This is so hard." Yes, vey hard.

I am so very sorry for your loss. My mom's been gone 8 years now, and I still want to pick up the phone to tell her something. So I do know some of your feelings. Doesn’t matter how old we are, either. We become orphans, and keepers of the history when our parents are gone. We become the elder. Scary position.

Cherish your memories of the wonderful relationship you had. As your Mom, she will always be inside you close to your heart. Yes, the feelings are so new and raw now. I know those feelings -- my son died very suddenly at the age of 30. They will get better with time.

Our thoughts and prayers are with you at this very difficult time.

Your mother was one of a kind -- so loving. I will never forget her. I pray that the wonderful memories of her will bring you more comfort than pain very soon.

I still miss my dad greatly. I try to remember how much love he gave to our family. I still talk to him; I know that might seem silly, but it works for me, to keep him near.

It helped me to know that other people have experienced the intense grief and sense of loss after losing a parent. It didn't take the pain away, it just helped me to feel less alone...at least for a bit. It also helped me to know that other people survived the loss.

The only thing that worked for me was putting one foot in front of the other to try and keep going. Which is incredibly hard. Please believe me, even though it seems impossible right now, you will survive and get through this and will eventually be able to talk about and remember her without crying. And you will remember the good times because they are woven through the fabric of your being...they are just overshadowed by grief right now.

I never saw your mother without a smile on her face. You were so lucky to have a mother like that, and she was fortunate to have such a devoted daughter.

I took this photo of your mom last year. I thought you might like it.

Your mother was one of my closest friends here. She liked to talk about the old Broadway musicals she saw years ago in New York. Please come back [to the residence center] and visit us sometimes.